


Trust

by scribblemoose



Series: Bonding [3]
Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-17
Updated: 2004-10-17
Packaged: 2017-10-08 22:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemoose/pseuds/scribblemoose





	Trust

Aya watched the door swing open, and hid the smile that threatened to spread across his face.

Yohji slunk into the room, his expression mostly defiance, warring with guilt and trying to pass as innocence.

Not a chance.

"Yohji," Aya said in his rich, deep baritone, fixing Yohji with a particularly penetrating glare.

"Hey, love." Yohji came over to the bed, rested one knee on the mattress and leaned in to kiss him. Aya hesitated, but before he'd decided whether to accept the kiss or not, it was done. He gave the slightest shiver of pleasure, and hoped Yohji hadn't noticed. He was supposed to be angry with him, after all.

Aya upped the glare a notch.

"Mission okay?" said Yohji, as if in passing.

"Where were you, Balinese?"

"Oh."

"Yes, 'oh'. You were supposed to rendezvous with us at three thirty." Aya fought to keep the trace of worry out of his voice. Not wanting to sound like some nagging wife.

"I got a bit held up." Yohji fiddled with a corner of the bedspread, looking sideways at Aya though his long, thick lashes.

"Really?"

"With my end of the mission."

Aya's eyes narrowed dangerously; to his credit, Yohji flinched.

"You were only supposed to talk to her."

"It wasn't that simple." Yohji shuffled his knees uncomfortably, edging onto the bed. Aya moved, just the smallest bit, to make room for him.

"Wasn't it?" he said, coldly.

"She was upset." Yohji's eyes were big, shimmering and pleading. He must have been taking lessons from Omi. "It's not as if she knew anything about it. She wasn't the target, or anything. I only listened. Mostly." His eyes dropped to the comforter, one finger tracing the outline of the patchwork squares.

"What else?"

"Sorry?"

"What else other than listening?"

Guilt won the day, at least for a moment. "I gave her a hug."

Aya cleared his throat.

"Or two, maybe, I don't remember." Yohji looked up at him again. "It was only acting. Honest. Acting. I promise."

"You promise?" Aya laced the words with just a little scorn. "How am I supposed to know the difference? And what exactly were you acting at? Were you acting getting hard and excited and comfort-fucking her?"

To Aya's amazement, Yohji actually looked shocked. Which was quite gratifying. It wasn't easy to shock Kudoh Yohji.

"Of course not! Aya, what do you think I-"

Yohji tailed off, and suspicion started to grow in his deep green eyes. "What d'you mean?"

"I mean," said Aya, trying harder than ever not to smile, "I think you've been naughty."

Aya very rarely used the word 'naughty'. His life didn't really call for it. Bad, evil, wretched, sinful, vile and wicked, definitely. But 'naughty' felt like a bizarre understatement of a word, and as such somehow illicit and, he had to admit, sexy.

"Naughty?" Yohji made no attempt to hide his smile whatsoever.

Aya cleared his throat. "Yes. Balinese. Naughty. Very."

Yohji gave a little chuckle before he blanked his face; Aya could see the pulse in his throat, already racing. "I'm sorry, Fujimiya," he said. "I'm very, very sorry."

"It's all very well being sorry," said Aya, setting his book down on the bed next to him. "But it's not that simple?"

Yohji did a passable imitation of looking afraid. "Isn't it?"

"No. You must learn, Kudoh. And for that reason, I'll have to-" Aya savoured the words - "punish you."

"But I'll be good, Fujimiya-sensei," said Yohji, never one to hold back from guilding the lily. "Please don't hurt me!"

Aya found it startlingly easy to look stern. "There's no getting out of it, Kudoh. You've been-" - what the hell, it felt so good to say it last time - "naughty. Now, take what's coming to you like a man."

Yohji whimpered. Adorably.

"Alright, Fujimiya-sensei," he said in a small voice. "But please be gentle with me?"

"I can't make any promises," said Aya.

They looked at each other for a moment, the air between them crackling with delicious tension. The intensity frightened Aya a little. His body was reacting so fast and so strongly; his mouth dry, breath short, nipples hard and rasping against his shirt, cock throbbing in his pants, his mind already fuzzy round the edges.

"Right," he said. "Pass me the, ah, spanky-stick."

Yohji bowed his head and nodded, treating the request with a lot more dignity than it deserved. He rummaged under the bed for a moment before handing Aya his prize.

Aya wrapped his fingers around the padded handle of the table tennis bat, and allowed himself the tiniest of smiles.

"Get naked," he said.

"Totally?" Yohji said, his bottom lip all but quivering. His eyes twinkled.

"Totally," said Aya, firmly, and busied himself flexing his fingers against the rough surface of the bat, watching surreptitiously as Yohji peeled off his clothes. There went the shimmery silk button-down shirt, and there the shoes and socks, kicked neatly off the bed. There the belt was peeled from the incredibly sexy low-slung pants.

Yohji bit his lower lip as he slowly opened his fly, settling cock and balls safely in his snug cotton briefs before smoothing his trousers down his thighs.

"Hurry up," said Aya, not meaning a word of it. Licking his lips and wanting very much to nuzzle the promising bulge in Yohji's underwear.

"Yes, Fujimiya-sensei. Of course."

He really should put a stop to all that sensei nonsense. But somehow he couldn't quite find the words.

Yohji shucked his underwear off, cock bouncing stiff and eager towards his belly, and knelt up, one hand on his heart, the other running through his dirty-blond hair. Beautiful. And knowing it.

Aya knelt up and tugged his own t-shirt over his head, shaking out his hair, stretching strong, lean muscles.

Two could play at that game.

Yohji duly whimpered, and Aya only had to point down to the bed to get him to drop down, crouched on all fours in front of him. Spread out for him, all long limbs and golden skin and rounded, tempting ass.

Aya stroked down from Yohji's shoulders in big, sweeping circles, until he reached the curve at the base of his spine. Waited until Yohji whimpered again before settling his palm over one smooth buttock.

"This is for you own good," he said. "You have to learn."

"What, Fujimiya-sensei? What do I have to learn?" Yohji's voice quivered delightfully.

"That you belong to me," said Aya, from his heart.

The bat came down with a resounding smack on Yohji's backside. He flinched and his head drooped in surrender.

Aya smacked again, then waited, firmly stroking the reddening skin. Yohji left it just long enough for Aya's heart to skip a beat, for him to start worrying that he'd gone too far, hit too hard, said too much.

Then Yohji wiggled his ass.

"I'm sorry, Fujimiya-sensei. I'm a bad, bad Balinese."

Relief flooded through Aya, followed swiftly by a burst of anger that Yohji had let the doubt appear at all. He smacked again, harder this time.

Yohji just groaned and wiggled his butt again.

"Yes. You are. Very bad."

Aya fell into a happy rhythm: smack, rub, pause, smack, rub, pause. He watched Yohji's cock get harder and harder, the muscles of his back quivering, first in anticipation and then in the shock of pleasure-pain.

"You're so good to me," Yohji whispered.

"You must control yourself, Balinese."

"Yes, Fujimiya-sensei."

"You must stop flirting with women." A particularly hard smack, that time; Yohji yelped and Aya could see him struggling to keep still. But he did.

"Whatever you say, Fujimiya-sensei."

"You must always make the rendezvous on time."

"I promise, Fujimiya-sensei."

"And you must never, ever fuck with anyone but me."

"Never, I swear, never. Oh, please forgive me, Fujimiya-sensai. Please."

Aya gave one last smack before tossing the bat onto the bed behind him. He ran his trembling hands over Yohji's ass, smoothing, comforting, keeping the smarting skin sensitive and tingling. He stroked it. Kissed it. Ran his tongue softly over it. So hot. So alive.

Before he realised what he was doing, Aya found himself slipping his fingers into the crack of Yohji's ass, opening him up and running his tongue over the soft, precious skin of his hole. Yohji cried out and his whole body jerked, bringing Aya's attention back into focus. No. Not yet. It was too soon. He dragged himself away.

"I don't think you've learned your lesson yet," he choked out.

"No?" Yohji peered at him over his shoulder. His face was flushed, and Aya thought he could see the damp streak of tears on his cheeks.

"You've learned your lesson. Now it's time for the test."

He wanted to throw Yohji down, to fuck him into the mattress, to feel Yohji's breath on his neck and his cock pressing into his belly. But he had to control himself. Not yet.

"Pass me the box."

Yohji obediently fetched the battered cardboard box and plonked it on the bed. Aya selected a few items and lay them out on the comforter. Soft nylon rope. Lube. A silk scarf.

All brand new. He'd been shopping recently.

Yohji's eyes widened.

"On your knees," said Aya, and picked up the rope.

He'd been practising, too.

He tied Yohji carefully, wrists behind his back, not tight enough to hurt but enough to stop him moving, looping around his ankles so he couldn't unfold his legs. He could feel Yohji's excitement, he was shaking with it, eyes dark with pleasure. Until Aya reached for the scarf.

"No," whispered Yohji. "I can't, Aya, please. Not that. I-"

Real fear. Not pretending. Aya thought fast.

"Don't worry, Balinese," said Aya, softly. "It's not your mouth that gets you into trouble. It's this."

He draped the soft fabric over Yohji's cock. It had softened a litttle, but the caress of the silk was enough to stiffen it up again nicely.

"Oh," breathed Yohji, eyelids fluttering with pleasure.

Aya twisted the scarf loosely, wrapped it around the base of Yohji's cock and tied it, hard enough to make it throb, not hard enough to hurt. Quite.

Aya took off the rest of his clothes and arranged cushions and pillows behind himself so he could lean back comfortably, half-sitting. He kept his eyes on Yohji all the while; his face was so beautiful, his expression so full of longing, and the little whimpering noises that escaped him sent a thrill down Aya's spine.

"I want you to observe very carefully," said Aya, stifling a nervous laugh. "This is what you'll be missing if you ever, ever flirt with anyone else again."

Yohji nodded.

"You will show me you can control yourself," he continued. "You must not come. You must not move until I say so. You must stay there, and watch. Do you understand, Balinese?"

"Yes," Yohji whispered.

Aya ran his hands over his own thighs. Parted his knees. Spread his legs, feet flat on the bed, tilting his hips up a little. Showing Yohji his most intimate places.

He trailed his fingers down his belly, skirting his straining cock and circling around his red-fuzzed balls to cup them gently in his palm. They throbbed. They wanted. They felt very, very good as he touched them.

He watched Yohji through half-hooded eyes as he caressed himself. Circling his dick with his thumb and two fingers, a tight ring to thrust into as he tickled his balls. Yohji groaned, and his silk-wrapped cock twitched, dribbling precome down the head.

Oh God.

Aya had to close his eyes until the urge to take Yohji's flesh into his mouth faded, desparately focusing on the tension coiling in his belly, willing it to diminish, just a little. He had to make this last.

He let go of his cock, lifted his balls and spread his legs wider to give Yohji a clear view of his asshole. Safer territory, here, for him at least. Felt good, distracting enough to keep him from touching Yohji, but not likely to make him come too soon. Aya very slowly licked his middle finger wet, and stroked his hole in little circles. Yohji swallowed hard, the muscles in his thighs hard and trembling, the tip of his tongue darting out to lick dry lips. His gazed at Aya hungrily, wanting him.

"Please, Fujimiya-sensai," he said, not taking his eyes off Aya's ass. "I want to come so badly. I want to pleasure you and make you feel good. Please?" He strained a little at his bonds, flexing his hips, his cock eager and dripping and hard as ever.

"You forget yourself, Balinese. I'm sure I remember telling you that you were to wait."

"Of course," said Yohji, full of remorse. "I'm sorry. Forgive me. It's just that you're so beautiful."

Aya grunted disbelief, and focused his attention back to teasing them both into a frenzy.

He stroked and circled, and finally, very slowly, pressed a finger inside himself. His body granted access without protest; every inch of him was aching for satisfaction. He had to admit to himself that this wasn't just for Yohji, that he was enjoying every minute of it. He couldn't conceive of doing anything like this with anyone else. But with Yohji, after all they'd been through, all they'd shared, it was alright. Better than alright.

He squirted lube onto the sensitive flesh just below his balls, letting it trickle down to pool in the dip of his ass. Slick-cool and soothing; he swirled it around, used two fingers to ease it inside.

"Aya... oh, fuck, Aya..."

Aya looked up sharply. "What did you call me, Balinese?"

Confusion flashed across Yohji's face for an instant, but it was soon replaced by meek repentance. "I'm so sorry, Fujimiya-sensei."

"That's better."

Aya started to finger fuck himself, working the lube deep inside, his other hand cupping his balls, stroking them softly. Watching Yohji all the while, beautiful and bound and yearning, desperate to be touched and kissed and stroked and fucked. Just enough mischief still visible behind the lust in his eyes to tell Aya that this was right.

Aya couldn't wait any more.

"Do you promise to be good, Balinese?"

Yohji nodded fervently. "Oh yes, Fujimiya-sensei. I promise. I'm so sorry I was bad. I'll never do it again."

"And who do you belong to?"

Yohji looked him straight in the eyes, and suddenly they weren't playing any more.

"You," he said.

Aya made a sound half-way between a growl and a wimper and threw himself across the bed at Yohji. Kissed him hard and deep, tongues tangling and sliding together, deep voices blending in their mouths. He shoved the silk down Yohji's cock as far as he could, but had no patience to take it off; Yohji yelled fuck as Aya grasped the root and impaled himself on the thick, hard length of him. Crying out himself, the friction just the right side of pain. But only just. He took Yohji into himself as fast as he could, forehead drooping to his shoulder, and only stopped when he was full and Yohji was completely buried inside of him, hot and hard and throbbing.

"Oh, Aya," Yohji kissed his temple, licked the tip of his ear, brushed his cheek against Aya's.

"Yohji." Aya's voice cracked, he let out a sob, the pleasure so intense, so deep, so real.

He flung himself backwards, catching himself on his hands, back arched, and crossed his legs around Yohji's back, felt the rope rasp across his ankles. Yohji had just enough movement to thrust a little, but Aya did most of the work, fucking himself on Yohji's cock, oblivious to the spasms of protest in tired muscles, only feeling the caress of silk and thick flesh, the quivering of Yohji's thighs against his ass. It didn't take long before Yohji was making the deep growling noises that meant he was about to come and Aya fucked harder, grinding down and writhing his hips, harder and faster and better until Yohji yelled and his cock swelled and spurted inside Aya's body.

Aya let him finish before wrapping his fingers around his own cock and bringing himself off with just three clean, hard strokes, his whole body rigid for a second of bliss before spasms of release shocked through him from balls to spine to brain in an explosion of pleasure.

He fell back on the bed, legs still wrapped tight around Yohji, and started to laugh. Couldn't help it. Couldn't stop.

"I'm glad to be so amusing," said Yohji, with the mock-hurt in his voice, "but I'm losing feeling here."

He couldn't be, Aya knew. He'd been too careful. But his own back was starting to give him Hell, and besides, he had to admit, it must be a bit uncomfortable, kneeling like that for such a long time.

With trembling, sticky fingers, Aya released Yohji and tossed the rope and scarf and the bat off the bed. Yohji stretched his limbs out one by one like a cat, a smug, satisfied smile on his face, before Aya tugged him into his arms. Kissed him, sweet and tender. Stroked the already fading marks that the rope had left behind. Yohji all but purred.

"I didn't sleep with her," he said, twisting Aya's eartail around his index finger. He did that a lot these days, Aya had noticed. "Didn't even kiss her. Took her home and then had to come back the long way; I think the drug squad were tailing me from the club."

"I know," Aya whispered, and felt Yohji smile into his shoulder.

Sated and content, they drifted, and in a few moments Yohji was asleep, breathing slow and even, his body lax and warm in Aya's arms.

Aya smiled, and buried his nose in soft blond hair.

"Mine," he whispered. "Mine."


End file.
